Friday, April 10, 2015


The season's young, with freshness all around,
But I am old and stooping toward the ground.
My paint is chipped or maybe scratched.
My youthful heart, though, can't be matched.
You see, my friend--and it's the truth--
Deep down inside, I'm still a youth.

I have been young, and now am old,
yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken or his children begging for bread. (Psalm 37:25 ESV)

I really don't feel quite as old (or as young) as this poem suggests, but this is what the photo seemed to say.

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